“Mummy, do scientists believe in Santa?”

At just six, Miss Fruitarian’s days of belief in the great man are numbered. The schoolyard is abuzz with rumours of parental involvement. Even more shocking was the discovery that Christmas has a purpose other than toys. Miss F announced after scripture last week that actually “Jesus is the best gift”. I asked if perhaps we should ask Santa to bring a big fat stocking full of Our Saviour? No, she’d prefer the Sylvanian Family of fluffy cats.

Not that the kids really deserve anything. That moment of perfection from a few weeks ago is long gone. Replaced with end of year exhaustion that sees every day ending in tears and most mornings starting with whinging and sibling bickering. Mr Meat & Potatoes is foul too. He has a maniacal grin and glazed eyes from 6am, when he starts prodding, poking and sitting on his sister until she cracks it (about 6.15am).

I’m remembering now how last year also ended up like this. Weeks of foul children, hyped with special events, treats and late nights – still rewarded on Christmas morning with present after present. It doesn’t seem quite right. A little boy at school was apparently so naughty last December that Santa only brought him a big bag of sticks (I’m dying to know what his crime was). All hail the diligent parent committed to justice enough to see this threat through. The scene must have been chaos. Although in the same situation, Mr M&P would probably have been pretty happy so long as one or two were shaped like guns.

So, in a week or two it will all be over. Things will calm down and we’ll relax into a month of swimming and iceblocks. Until then, drag yourself forward to each party/event/concert/shopping trip. Perhaps I’ll see you there. I’ll be the haggard woman, slightly hungover and snapping at my bickering children. Oh wait, is that me, or is that you?